


The Incident With The Scarf

by colouredshadows



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:27:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1396336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colouredshadows/pseuds/colouredshadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was an incident. With a scarf. Incidentally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Incident With The Scarf

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfic (well, its more like a ficlet really) I ever wrote so don't judge me too harshly!

John fumbled with the lock of his flat, 221B Baker Street, eager to get out of the cold. Shoving the door open he bustled in through the doorway, greeted by a blast of warm air that made his skin tingle. Laden with shopping bags he stumbled a few steps up the hallway before depositing them unceremoniously on the floor and retreating back down the hall to slam the door on the harsh January weather. Relieved to be home, John rubbed his hands together in an attempt to warm them up. Picking up the bags as he went, John made his way upstairs; wondering what kind of mischief Sherlock had been up to in his absence.  
Sherlock sat in his usual armchair, eyes vacant, fingers steepled beneath his chin. It was obvious he was pondering something – probably something completely unfathomable to any human of the average intelligence. But if there was anything Sherlock wasn’t, it was average. Sherlock broke out of his trance like state as John gushed through the door, his face still a little pink from the wind outside.  
“I’m back.” He announced unnecessarily as it didn’t take someone as observant as Sherlock to notice that he had just returned from the shopping trip he had embarked on about half an hour ago. Sherlock went back to thinking without bothering to greet him. “Eurgh, its freezing out.” John continued, filling the otherwise silent flat with the sound of his voice. He plonked the shopping bags down on the table and shrugged off his thick winter coat. “You know, you ought to do the shopping occasionally.” He complained. ”You know how much I hate it.” Sherlock looked up at him, vaguely amused. “I have much more important things to occupy my time.” He replied. John rolled his eyes and reached into one of the carrier bags in order to start re-stocking the cupboards and fridge.  
“Oh, don’t bother putting those away.” Sherlock said.   
John made an exasperated gesture at him, a milk carton in each hand. “Why?” he asked, “What severed limb is in the fridge this time?”   
Sherlock frowned at him. “That was an important and fascinating scientific experiment.”  
“I’m sure it was.” John replied, putting the milk back down on the table. He was quite sure he could live with Sherlock for 100 years and he would still be a complete and utter mystery to him. There was no-one quite like Sherlock Holmes.  
“Well, don’t just stand there John.” Sherlock said, though he hadn’t moved since John had first come in. “Hurry up, we’re going out.”  
“Again?” John asked.  
“Yes.” Sherlock said, now looking at something on his phone.  
“Any point in me asking where? Or why for that matter?”  
“No, not really.”  
“It’s cold out.” John warned. Sherlock would freeze if he went out how he was and despite being a genius he tended to forget things like that.  
“Go get my scarf.”  
“Get it yourself.” John retorted, a little annoyed at having to go out again after only getting back a few minutes ago.  
“I’m busy.”  
“Too busy to walk across the room and pick up your scarf?” John asked, though he knew what Sherlock would say in reply.  
“Yes.” Sherlock said, confirming John’s guess to be correct.  
With an irritated sigh John strode across the room, dodging the coffee table strewn with piles of paper covered with Sherlock’s untidy scrawl and the various balls of scrunched up paper that littered the floor next to it, and retrieved Sherlock’s scarf from where it had been thrown across the arm of the sofa.  
Sherlock had folded himself out of the armchair by the time John had made his way back across the room but his attention was still focused on his mobile. John held out the scarf to him but Sherlock made no move to take it. John coughed, loud and deliberate. Sherlock looked up briefly before becoming once again immersed in browsing his phone.  
“You don’t expect me to put it on myself do you?” Sherlock asked, clearly not fixated enough to miss John’s growing impatience. John decided to not bother arguing. Sherlock always won anyway.  
In any other circumstance Sherlock should have been the flat mate from hell. Lazy, messy, bossy, stubborn, arrogant. Not to mention completely insane. Oh and with a good helping of mortal peril thrown in there as well. Because as everyone knows, danger is just one of the many side-effects of being too close to Sherlock Holmes. But despite all the negatives meeting Sherlock had given John something much, much more. He’d given John his life back. And right now, standing only a few inches away from him, John had never felt more alive.  
Trying to remain casual, John threw the scarf around Sherlock’s neck with unnecessary force to let him know that he was annoyed with him. As if on cue, Sherlock parted his gaze from the phone at last and slipped it into his pocket. He looked up at John and smiled.  
Disconcerted by how close Sherlock’s face was to his own, John re-focused his attention on the scarf. Dammit, why did Sherlock have to be so attractive?  
Off put by the way him mind was wandering and desperately afraid his pounding heartbeat would give him away John looped the scarf as quickly as he could and distracted, tugged it through with uncalculated strength. Sherlock stumbled a little, his head yanked forward by John’s actions, and his face collided with John’s.  
Before John had any idea how it had happened they were kissing.   
John’s hand was still caught up in the material of Sherlock’s scarf, pulling the taller man down towards him, closer to him. Sherlock had reached out and put his hand around the back of Sherlock’s head, supporting it, tilting his face up towards his, his fingers slightly submerged in John’s hair, and was kissing back with surprising enthusiasm. John’s mind reeled, his body on overload. And when Sherlock pulled away it seemed as though the room was spinning.  
Sherlock looked at John, whose cheeks had rapidly begun to colour as he realized what had just happened, and raised a bemused eyebrow. Things had not turned out quite as he expected. He flashed John a heart-melting smile.  
“Seems like we’re staying home after all.”


End file.
